THE THIRTEENTH DAY SECOND PART, 30 Days Has September

Dawn was breaking somewhere over the high parapet beyond the hill to my back, although the jungle down in the valley only glowed slightly with the coming of the light. The rain was gone. There would be sun.

The radio handset hung down from my right hand, the dangling cut cord swinging gently in the early morning breeze. I knew it was Pilson’s handset and I knew what that had to mean. What kind of mission had I set Nguyen on with just a word and the nod of my head in the dark? What had made Casey move out toward the river bed without proper flank security or support when incoming fire had been taken just moments before? Was the man completely crazy or possessed of a courage I knew I lacked? And, what could possibly have been accomplished, even if it proved that my artillery strike hadn’t killed every member of his scouting party?

I crouched against the trunk of some unknown jungle tree spreading out above me. The gentle breeze, impossibly making itself so deep down near the jungle floor, shook large droplets of the night rain loose from the leaves. They came down singly, making it seem like God was selecting small certain targets for his own artillery. I bent my head back and waited. It took only a few seconds for a big drop to smack me right between the eyes. First Platoon had established a perimeter while Second had gone through to head west toward the river and find out what had happened to Casey and the men with him.

As the light slowly improved I could see the Marines around me not looking at me, as if by looking they might cause fire to be rained down on their heads too. The Gunny came out of the jungle, up from the point of the company established not far from where I was. I had more questions than I could think to express but I said nothing. After setting Pilson’s handset on my pack I detached my canteen and poured the holder half full. I used the bottom of the cover to smooth a spot on a small area of uncommonly bare mud. Several leeches stuck up out of the mud like flowers waving back at me. I took a chunk of the composition B, stuck it next to the little creatures and lit it. The leeches retreated back into the wet ground. I wondered where they came from and how they could possibly be so numerous where I was when I’d never seen one in my entire life before.

“I didn’t know they went out there in time,” the Gunny said, squatting in from of me.

“Must have been some reason,” I answered, the water in my holder starting to boil.

The Gunny produced a package of the coffee and tossed onto the mud in front of me.

“Three KIA and one wounded,” he said, finally getting out his own canteen holder.

I had a million questions but I didn’t want to ask him any of them. Where had he been? Why was there so little radio traffic on the command net about anything and everything they were doing? Who were the dead and wounded? Was Casey one of them, and how did the Gunny know? Dread of knowing who was hit overwhelmed me.

My hand holding the heating water shook. I willed it to stop but that didn’t work. I knew the Gunny was noticing but there was nothing to be done about that.

I didn’t feel afraid. I just felt like I was at the end of some emotional line and would not be able to cope with any of what was going on.

“No incoming,” I finally said, pouring in the coffee mix and stirring the near boiling water with my right index finger. The pain actually felt good, and I knew that wasn’t right either. And what was a bit more dirt in my coffee, anyway.

“No,” the Gunny replied. “That zone you dropped straddled the river and probably took out a good many more of the gooks than our own Marines. They’re trying to get their act together. Should have been an attack following the rocket attack but nothing. They’re scared shitless of the artillery you can bring in, and you better get ready to call some more.”

“When’s Second Platoon coming back in?” I asked, sipping my coffee but not enjoying it.

The Gunny waved Fusner over to him and then spoke into the handset. Seconds later he handed it back. The speaker on the radio was on, so I didn’t have to inquire about what was going on with the recovery.

Casey was missing and Rittenhouse was dying. The dead were from First Platoon’s squad. A Second Platoon squad was staying with Rittenhouse, with a perimeter set up to wait for Casey to show up. The platoon was returning with the bodies in ponchos and the living remainder of Casey’s squad.

“Casey’s dead out there somewhere and Rittenhouse’s dying?” I said, more to myself than to the Gunny. The simple battery of six artillery mission had turned out to be the most disastrous I’d ever called. And nobody had said anything about Nguyen. Where was Nguyen?

“Not dead yet. We need to move the company out there to provide security and cover until we know what the hell’s going on,” the Gunny said, which surprised me. “What do you think?” he continued, which surprised me even more.

I stared at him over the lip of my canteen-holder, with raised eyebrows.

“You’re the company commander again,” he finished, looking away.

I’d been company commander before but that hadn’t seemed to matter back then. Now, here I was, in command again, and not really knowing what to do. I stared down at the burning explosive under my cup, and then at the little holes the leeches had left in their downward retreat. The NVA needed to be kept in their holes, like the leeches.

“No, the company’s going to accomplish Casey’s mission,” I finally said. “I’ll take the scout team out to Second Platoon’s squad and bring Rittenhouse’s body upriver to the objective. We’ll meet you there. Call in a medevac and resupply. If we’re going to be at the site for any time I want a 106 recoilless, and plenty of ammo. Direct fire across that river will stop anything on the other side. The recoilless rifle rounds weighed just a bit less than 105 howitzer rounds and could reach out almost three miles. Five hundred pounds was too much for the company to move around in the field, however. The gun would have to be evacuated or destroyed if the company had to move.

“The objective’s not going anywhere,” the Gunny replied, disagreeing with my plan, but not saying so directly for some reason or other I couldn’t quite fathom.

“The riverbed is flat and open,” I said. “If they get that fifty set back up they might take out the whole company before I could get a single round on target.”

“You don’t think your place is with the company?” he replied.

“I called that strike myself and Nguyen led them out there. I’m going. I don’t have a place in this company and we both know it. Take them to the objective, secure it and get resupplied. We’ll be along or we won’t.”

“We’re pretty secure right here,” the Gunny said, sipping his own coffee, his eyes finally meeting my own. “If they’re waiting for us I don’t have a plan and I can’t call in your kind of artillery. We both know that too. We’ll wait here, so we can go in whole and not leaving anyone behind. The objective will still be there, and nobody back at battalion gives the slightest shit.”

“I presume that’s at on my command?” I replied, putting an edge to my words.

“Why are you going out there?” the Gunny countered.

“You know damned well why,” I replied.

“I’m going with you,” he said, surprising me once again. “Sugar Daddy and Jurgens can hold the perimeter without my help.” He poured the remains of his coffee onto the fire we both used to heat our drinks. I followed suit. There was really nothing else to be said that either of us wanted said.

The leading elements of Second Platoon moved back through the perimeter and into the broken jungle and mud area that had become the company position. After watching the men come through carrying the silently swinging black bags of the dead, I got my stuff together and moved toward the rough edge of the clearing made by the retreating river. The sound of river’s passing was still a low rushing thunder in the distance. The river had become our friend because it was apparent, even without seeing it, that nobody was going to cross it without special engineering equipment not available to anyone deep down in our part of the valley.

I started out, with Zippo, Stevens and Fusner spreading out behind me, the Gunny following in trace twenty meters back, or so with another enlisted Marine right behind him. From somewhere in the company the Gunny had glommed onto a Prick 25 and someone to carry it.

It took only a few minutes to cross through the broken bracken of the light jungle density to move out onto the flat sand where the river had once run across. The sand was dense, but not hard and it was runneled through with ribbons of green fronds and small broken branches. Sprinkled around were varying sizes of rocks, some as small as a thimble and others as large as bowling balls. I followed the tracks Second Platoon had pressed into the sand in making the recovery effort. It took another five minutes to reach a position not far from the river’s rushing waters. Just before the fast-moving rapids was a stand of bamboo stalks and a mass of trees that must have served as a small narrow island when the river ran less powerfully on both sides. I saw a slight tangle of poncho covers with a pair of boots sticking out.

Dawn had arrived and the light was increasing all the time, as the sun rose to the point where it would soon appear over the lip of the eastern canyon. The squad left with Rittenhouse was spread out with the Marines lined up facing toward the river, all peering through the slight brush at the far shore. I knew immediately that we have to move off the exposed former island as quickly as we could. There was nothing that served as cover from a fifty-caliber heavy machine gun if the NVA got it back into action.

A corpsman came up to his knees and waved me toward him. He was kneeling next to a mass that didn’t look like it was human at all. I leaned down before going to my own knees. I stared into Rittenhouse’s weakly blinking eyes.

His body was such a chopped mess that I could not look at it.

“Can you help me, sir?” Rittenhouse squeaked out, bubbly red saliva dripping from his mouth. He coughed, but not hard, as if any further effort would kill him.

The corpsman shook his head from a position just beyond Rittenhouse’s head. I could tell the corpsman was wrapping up and getting his kit together.

I wanted to talk to him but I was frozen in place by Rittenhouse’s pleading eyes. In seconds the corpsman was gone, leaving only Fusner the Gunny and I at the company clerk’s side.

“I shouldn’t have listened to Jurgens,” Rittenhouse gasped out. “I can’t take this pain, sir. I just can’t do it.” Tears flowed down both sides of his skull. “Will you help me, sir?”

“Gunny,” take the men and get them ready to move out,” I ordered, without my eyes leaving those of Rittenhouse. I wanted to tell the corporal that I hadn’t called in the artillery to get even or kill him. I wanted to lie and say I hadn’t sent Nguyen to somehow entice him out to expose him, but I knew it was pointless. The only thing that was important was the present, his pain and getting the unit out of the line of fire as quickly as possible.

I removed the morphine I kept in my right thigh pocket. I wanted to call the corpsman back to administer the dosage but I knew he’d left because he either didn’t want to do it or wouldn’t do it. I was the company commander and it was my call, for whatever unjust and strange reason.

“Where’s Casey?” I asked, my voice a whisper as I gently removed three morphine syrettes from my small case. What was left of Rittenhouse would certainly require no more. The shrapnel effect of the 105s was evident. Rittenhouse had been carved nearly to pieces by razor sharp shards of sharpened metal traveling at twenty-two thousand feet per second. His body had been as nothing against their onslaught. That he was alive at all was a miracle, or a curse, depending upon perspective.

“He said he was going on a walkabout, sir,” Rittenhouse said, his voice almost too soft to hear. “He wasn’t hit but he wasn’t right in the head either.”

I knew Rittenhouse would die if I knelt there and waited long enough, but every second I waited risked my life and those with me. I punched in the three syrettes, one after another, taking less than ten second for the entire operation.

“I know, I know,” I said, meaning it, knowing I should be crying, or reacting in some emotional way, but unable to do anything but wait impatiently for the boy to die.

“Thank you, sir,” were his final words, and they went into me like three hot knives.

It took nearly five minutes. His frightened eyes finally closed on their own, and his breathing became labored until it was gone. I counted. Twenty-seven breaths from his eyes closing until his breathing stopped. I knew there was no point in counting but I couldn’t help it. Twenty-seven breaths. Less than two minutes.

I got up and walked to where the corpsman had disappeared in the brush. He was no more than ten feet away. I tossed the three empty syrettes to him.

“He’s gone,” I said, coldly, even though I knew the course of events wasn’t the corpsman’s fault. “Bag him and let’s get back to the company.”

I breathed in and out deeply and worked to shed whatever emotions were rising up inside me. We were all trying to stay alive and doing only those things that might enhance that effort. The corpsman was trying to save lives and it wasn’t fair to put him into a position where he had to take lives.

I moved to where the Gunny crouched with Zippo, Stevens and the two RTOs. I’d thought to bring my binoculars. I swung them up to take in the empty river bed from our position north and then downriver in the south.

“He’s not out there, sir,” Fusner said. “We’ve been looking.”

“What’s a walkabout?” I asked, never having heard the phrase before.

“Australian,” the Gunny said. “Means walking around for a while, usually getting dead drunk for weeks, and then heading home like you’ve never been gone.”

“He went south,” I said, pointing. “I can see his foot prints, so we go south down river.”

“How far?” Fusner asked.

“As far as it takes,” the Gunny responded, coming up behind me. “We’re not leaving him behind. I’ll call Jurgens and fill him in.”

“Let’s settle in for a few minutes,” I said, sitting down on some jungle bracken and taking out my map.

My mind wasn’t really on setting defensive fires I already had the coordinates for in my head. The mention of Jurgens took my thoughts to other places, like my Colt. It’d been over a week since I’d cleaned it. Would it even function without a tear down and cleaning? I pulled it out and checked the action, ejecting the magazine and looking down the barrel. The .45 seemed okay. I knew it would fire under the most dire of dirty circumstance, as it was built for rough combat conditions. I wasn’t worried about functioning nearly as much as I was worried about whether the action would work if the slightest rust sealed the slide or barrel to the receiver. I might need more than one shot for Jurgens when I next ran into him. And then there was Stevens. He was Nguyen’s translator. Why had he gone forward physically in the company when it would have been much quicker to call on the radio? What had he told Nguyen and what had Nguyen’s role been? My trust in everything had been shaken and my hands were reflecting that knowing fear. I had killed Rittenhouse first with artillery and then again with the morphine.

I stood and brought up my Japanese binoculars. I instantly fixed them on the darker objects approaching. I adjusted the focus carefully. I didn’t have to adjust both lenses to see that it was Nguyen, Pilson and the captain approaching. Nguyen gripped Casey’s right bicep with his left hand, and led him slowly toward us.

I brought the glasses back down and went back down to the debris covered jungle floor. I noticed, while I waited, that the entire stand of trees, bamboo and jungle bracken looked like it’d been through a vegetable chopper. The high explosive shells had left the little island intact from a distance but cut the heart of the place to pieces with giant shrapnel razor blades.

“Corpsman up,” I said, over my shoulder. The captain’s helmet, the one that had created the nickname of Captain Crunch for him, had added damage. I wondered if the piece of shrapnel sticking out the other side of the helmet had penetrated to his skull below. The corpsman raced down to the approaching men. The rest of the detail lay in prone position remaining under cover and ready to provide as much covering fire as possible if the exposed men needed it.

The four came in together, with Pilson peeling off to stand with the Gunny and his newfound radio operator. Pilson’s radio was still on his back, although I knew the handset was back laying on top of my pack at the company. Nguyen looked over at me in a meaningful way, but I could get nothing from his impassive expression. The corpsman sat the captain down where I’d laid out my poncho cover in expectation of his arrival. Casey’s helmet was off, and he appeared outwardly undamaged. Physically.

“How are you, sir?” I asked.

He turned his head to face me. “I’m not going,” he said, flatly.

“Going where?” I said, a bit befuddled by his comment.

“I’m not going to get the Silver Star,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a Silver Star, but I’m not going. It’s your Silver Star, anyway. I just wanted it.”

“What?” was all I could say, in shock.

“I killed Rittenhouse,” Casey said, his voice quiet and listless. “I killed him for sure. I should have known you’d drop that crap on us before I could get him out of here. I was trying to get him to the objective before you figured it out.”

The Gunny tapped me on the shoulder, and motioned for me to get up. I did so, my expression one of question.

“Wait with the men,” he said, very softly.

I shook my head, but gathered the scout team and moved back into the cover provided by the chopped bracken island. We waited while the Gunny talked to Casey, and he talked back. Nobody could hear what was being said. Ten minutes later, the Gunny left the captain’s side and came over to us.

“He’s not right,” the Gunny said, squatting down among us. “He doesn’t want to go anywhere, or be here anymore, or be company commander. He says, anyway.”

“Well, no shit, Gunny,” Stevens said. “Who in hell wants to be here?”

“No, it’s a bit more than that,” the Gunny replied. “He’s lost it and we’ve got to get him to the rear before he gets himself and everyone else killed.”

I sat silent, trying to figure out what Casey was talking about. He was trying to get Rittenhouse out so I couldn’t get to him, and what was I supposed to figure out? That Rittenhouse had tried to frag me? That was it? Only that? I wasn’t buying it. And where had the Gunny and Jurgens disappeared to when Casey was out gallivanting around in a free fire zone right after a rocket attack? And finally, what was Pilson’s role in the whole thing?

The Gunny carefully put Casey’s helmet back on the captain’s head, and then turned and waved for me to approach.

I sat on the outer edge of the poncho cover, trying not to show my distrust.

“You need to convince him to get back and get the medal,” the Gunny unaccountably said, before standing and walking over to the rest of the scout team.

Casey stared at me. The scene was funny. I knew it was funny, and I knew one day I might laugh. Casey’s eyes were almost rolling; he was so out of it. His helmet was bashed in on one side and had a piece of shiny shrapnel sticking straight out of the other. Captain Crunch wasn’t a close descriptor anymore for the tattered damaged mess he’d become. I thought about his situation and our own, before speaking.

“Yes, you’re going to the rear to get the medal, and it’s not my medal,” I began. “It’s the company’s medal. You have to go to represent your company, your first command. Your men need you. It doesn’t matter who the medal should go to. It’s yours now and I think that’s great. For me it was just doing my job.”

I wondered if I was making any sense at all, as his expression didn’t change.

“Did you know I was there when you called that artillery in?” he said, his eyes suddenly focusing and staring into my own.

“I didn’t know any of you were there,” I replied.

“I don’t have to believe that, do I, Junior?” he asked.

“No, you just have to go to the rear and take care of your men.”

The captain sat there, looking down at his hands for a couple of minutes. I didn’t say anything, taking the time to think about the four ounce can of mineral oil, maintenance, I had in my pack. I’d get the oil out before we moved and pour it over the action of the .45. I didn’t need a long term fix. I just needed to have the thing work when I met Jurgens later in the day.

“You don’t like me, do you, Junior?” Casey said.

I was getting frustrated and the man was scaring me. Was he truly crazy or simply a little crazy.

“I don’t know you, sir.” I replied, knowing it was a weak reply but not knowing what else to say without sending him right off the deep end.

“Well, I know you, Junior,” he replied, “and nobody likes you except maybe that whacked out Montagnard native person, and you’re going to find that out.”

Casey got to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said, surprising the hell out of me.

I wanted to ask him at least one more question but he immediately started off walking toward where the company was still set in waiting.

The Gunny asked me if Casey would go back on the coming chopper and I told him I believed so, but that was all we said before following Casey back into the jungle and through the perimeter.

Sugar Daddy appeared near the point of our arrival back behind the line.

“There’s no landing zone left there,” he said. “Sent a point locating party out to scout our route. They came back. No booby traps, no enemy and no landing zone, new or old. Where the hell’s the objective?”

I knelt down and opened my pack. The light maintenance oil was right there. I pulled it out and went to work on the Colt, working the action time after time. It was a great weapon, and I smiled to myself over its functioning. One round into the chamber and five in the magazine. No stress on the magazine tang.

“What you want Jurgens for?” the Gunny asked.

I looked up. Everyone was staring down at me with strange expressions.

The sun shone behind them, making the Gunny and my scout team into dark statue-like silhouettes.

“What?” I said to the Gunny, getting to my feet while shoving the .45 into my holster. “It’s morning. Jurgens and I need to have a brief discussion about the coming move over breakfast.”

164 Comments

Glenn Smith
on March 22, 2017 at 11:32 am

Lt. I read this segment with both trepidation and suspense. I am not disappointed.
A suggestion if you are open to it. Please consider a publication of your works complete with the associated comments from us your fans. I do not know if you would need releases from each person. But if you do, mine at least would be granted gladly.
God bless you.
Glenn.

Yes, you are correct about that Gleen. We’ve reached out for permission from some of the guys already and will seek more.
The comments are special and the people who write in have been so damned genuine and well spoken. Shockingly so, really.
Thanks for your own permission!
Semper fi,
Jim

Thank you William. I am not sure what the comments mean but I think they are truly
wonderful and probably better than the book itself! I have read things in these last 5286 comments that have
literally reached in and touched and then changed my way of thinking. It has been a shocking and very different experience
to read, reread and then carefully answer them. Whatever the books may or may not do or sell, it is the comments that will
always remain with me.
Semper fi,
Jim

Don Wilkison
on March 21, 2017 at 1:00 pm

James-I read this one last Saturday. I was at a conference and started reading during the break. Needless to say, I was late coming back to my conference because I had to read your episode to the end. What a crazy time at that point in A Shau. I just reread it again much slower, can’t wait to buy the book and read the entire story again.

The comments are so damned special on here. I try to get the ‘flavor’ of each one
so I can appreciate the experience of others. My own was pretty bizarre, but now not so bizarre as I used to think it was.
Thanks to those of your who read and the comment, just like you…
Semper fi,
Jim

When Casey came back w/his anointed headgear , you used the name Captain CRUSH , rather than Crunch !! Intentionally?? As baby-San would say-“#10,000 GI !! I think he was crazier than a runover dog and that dog be me !! Thanks for all you do & did !!

Jim, Amazing writing about the horrors of combat. Read the chapter of Job in the Bible. God never gauranteed an easy passage through life or hell or what ever path you walk, you just have to walk through it to find the other side. Many didn’t make it, your story is riveting. Semper Ubi Sub Ubi, and most of all from an old Army guy! Semper Fi!

Thanks for the tough but very logical words in your comment Al.
I think about those things all the time too. Walking the walk is different back
here but similar when you apply what was learned over there. It simply took many years
to realize that it was an education I was going through instead of simply a hellish purgatory.
Semper fi,
Jim

I thank God that I didn’t have to go over to the Nam! Good Lord Man, you had no one to trust except your native scout. I don’t know where you got the intestinal fortitude to handle yourself but wherever you got it from it made you into a warrior!!! You are a rare breed of soldier. Chaos at every turn yet you kept yourself on the spot of instant retaliation. Don’t Fuck With Junior!!!!

Do not forget that I am writing this and although I am trying to get it right and let
every one know what happened as best I can…I also tend to make myself look a little better, I think,
than I really was. Appreciate the kind words and your support.
Semper fi,
Jim

Somehow your writing has appeared on my facebook page. I’m kinda at a loss as to what is going on. Are posting the story as you write it? How can I read it from the start. I read in one of the comments that someone, maybe it was you, said he wanted to be an Iraq or Afghanistan veteran since they are the real deal. I can just say this about that…I gave up a hell of a long time ago worrying about being the real deal. I was with the 11th Light Infantry Brigade at Duc Pho from Dec 67 to July 69. I do love your writing style.

Yes, I am posting as I write. All the older segments are available at jamesstrauss.com if
you click on Thirty Days Has September button when you get there. The first book should be out in
hardcover and electronic next week on Amazon…
Thanks for bothering to check this out…
Semper fi,
Jim

Come to think about it, this descent that we are talking about, was very much a part of the Vietnam war. Perhaps that was the reason that I responded the way I did. By the way James, the descent we faced when coming home, was from the very same liberal faction that started the descent against that war and it is also the same that we face today!

I want to share something personal that happened to me, when I attended my mother’s funeral in upstate New York, a mecca for flaming liberals and off shoot of the hippie generation.

To briefly set the stage, I was very angry with our government for the way they were handling the Vietnam war and the way they chose to end it. Not only that, those damn liberals had partially taken over our government and had turned a major portion of our population against the troops rather then the government. Our CO’s in the CONUS, had advised us not to wear our uniforms when off base, fearing physical confrontations with the radical long hairs. In other words, we Vets were to be ashamed of our service, rather then to fight the liberal idiots on our streets.

Well it took me twenty-five years to get over that anger and I decided to wear my Vietnam hat in public and yes, even to flaunt it. I wore that hat to my mother’s funeral, this in the early 2000’s. Guess what James, if looks could kill I would have never left that part of N.Y. alive. Do you get the message?

Well, I understand J, and I am sorry that your feelings are so raw about those who support the things
you believe in and also the things you do not. But there comes a time when we try to put it to bed.
I still have trouble looking at Vietnamese women on television, or even Korean. I just go right back
and then have resurface myself. There are so many belief systems out there with so much validity in
perspective. I have to give more merit to those I don’t agree with.
Thank you for making me think of that here.
Semper fi,
Jim

Yes, the last two have been difficult but necessary to the story.
There are some bitter days ahead yet but I think I can work through them
and stay whole and sane. Lots of years to get ready.
Semper fi,
Jim
PS thanks for being here for me…

Damn it. Helluva way to start your day. Rittenhouse certainly paid the ultimate price of being a pawn in a deadly game of chess. His final words add volumes to the depth of the story. As bad as this development is I have a gut feeling it ain’t nothing compared to what comes next. Shit’s about to get serious. Take your time writing Jim. You are the best. Semper fi

LT, as I began following this series, I found that I had a lot to say about each installment. Many memories were evoked and sometimes it was like I was there in the Valley with you. Now I’m more like stunned speechless each time. I wonder if I’m not going back to the ol’ Nam Vet cover up: Don’t mean a thing. But I’ll keep following until there is nothing left to read.

Thanks Andrew, I am hard at it and “it don’t mean nuthin” still means a ton to those of us
who lived it and said it…and still I’ve it and say it…
Thanks for the complimentary comment and your loyalty and interest in the story.
Semper fi,
Jim

This so much reminds me of my Saturday serial shows that always left us ‘cliff hanging’. Next Saturday couldn’t get here fast enough. Find myself checking your webpage several times a day hoping to learn what happened next. Mostly as a former Survival Instructor I am enthralled watching you survive and learn.
As for editing assist: “Just before the fast-moving rapids was a stand of bamboo stalks and a mass of trees that must have served as a small narrow island when the river ran less powerfully on body sides.” Possibly “BOTH” SIDES?

I thought someone else had spotted this already, ““Corpsman up,” I said, over my shoulder. The captain’s helmet, the one that had created the nickname of Captain Crush for him, had been added to.”” Crush = Crunch? Possibly reword ending to “had additions” or ‘added damage’

Thanks, as usual SSGT. I need all the help I can get. And thanks for the Saturday Serial compliment.
When I was a kid I just loved that stuff and now I’m the guy writing it.
Amazing. Thank you!!!
Semper fi,
Jim

J, I hope you understand the message in my last comment. I do not necessarily disagree with
you. It is more a matter of the nuance of details in the discussion. There’s a lot of emotion laying
there like the sand at the bottom of the Bong Song. Never goes away, just moves around.
Thanks for commenting on the site and thank you sincerely for understanding.
Semepr fi,
Jim

Agree, but as you say, those feelings run deeply and will continue to do so as long as rebels continue to try to overthrow our Republic. We have a lot of political problems with our form of government but then, so do all other forms of manmade governments. When comparing ours to that of the rest of the nations, we have got one of the best.

Too true J, and I’m a patriot from beginning to end.
These battles among men to survive the most with the best have
been going on forever. Thanks for the straight from the shoulder stuff you
write on here.
Semper fi,
Jim

Hal Russell
on March 19, 2017 at 6:44 pm

James.,
I don’t read a lot of Nam stories, but your story and your writings has me hooked. I wait patiently for your next chapter. Then I reread your past chapters. I served in Nam in 1968-69 in the army. Just a spc-4 draftee and was in logistics up at An Khe for 5 months and Bong Son for 7 months. We all have our own stories and ghosts. It is all yesterday.
For me I hid from it for years. No one wanted to hear anything anyway.
Thank you for telling your story.
I returned to Vietnam by myself last year and ventured around up around Quy Nhon and made it up to Bong Son where I had been in 1969. It had all changed, but when I stood down by the Bong Son River and closed my eyes I could see it all just like it was.
I was not in the bush, just logistics. We still had our crap. Friends died and bad things happened. When I returned home I realized the Nam had become my home without me knowing it. I wasn’t welcome back here.
Thanks again for sharing your story and insights in your other writings.
Hal

The Bong Song. Misnamed, of course, but what wasn’t to and buy us when we were there?
To know it’s the Bong Song was to have been there for certain. I’ve wondered what it would be like
to stand by that river again…like you, with my eyes closed. I’ve wondered just how welcome I’d be back there too.
It’s so hard to imagine that the Vietnamese would really want to welcome somebody like me back. But I’ve heard of
reconciliations among the Japanese, Germans and guys from WWII on our side. I never walked among the Montagnards so I know
nothing of their village life. Only Nguyen, who was so fucking impressive as a human being.
Tbanks for picking my story to take to and then to tell some of your own right here.
None of us were really welcome back here. Hell, we’re still mostly not welcome at the VA. I want to be a Desert Storm
or Afghan veteran. They are considered the real deal today. Which is okay. I don’t go there anyway.
thanks, my friend.
You are always welcome here.
Semper fi,
Jim

A song came to mind during Rittenhouse’s last minutes, “Ain’t No Sunshine” Bill Withers. He said he didn’t mean it and you replied “I know, I know”, Bill repeats that phrase 27 times in the song, the same amount of breaths Rittenhouse had left in him.

I remember that song from years ago in high school. I had an architect/engineering drafting teacher by the name of Mr. Edwards. He apparently had been in the army and at the end of every school year he would make us all watch the French Documentary “The Anderson Platoon” so that the seniors would have an idea of how the combat world worked. He never made any political commentary so I never had any idea if he was trying to recruit or deter would be enlistees! Anyways if I remember right one of the platoon members is shown singing that song while being flown out of an LZ at the end of a mission. It’s been 30+ years ago but I remember it as being quite eerie as they fly off at dusk.

I saw the Anderson Platoon. Didn’t really understand it but the feel was all there.
The looks, the misery of dirt and crud everywhere. Thanks for reminding me.
It was an eerie scene, like most of the muss was over there…although sometimes it was
light and entertaining if conditions were just right. And home, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim

Walt
on March 19, 2017 at 2:00 pm

Wow. So many questions (and thoughts) swirling in your head about the immediate past, the present and the immediate future. Powerful writing, LT. I was wondering at the end of the last episode if the LZ upriver was close enough to the river that the floodwaters might have taken it out. I am reading another book about Vietnam war (not nearly as good as your writings) and specifically read the portions dealing with the A Shau and military actions. Every one of the engagements mentioned there spoke of air support that was called in. That often resulted in a sad recounting of the number of U.S. casualties caused by friendly air fire that happens in the confusion and fog of an hot engagement with troops on both sides in movement. Am surprised that no air support was brought in to help you guys yet when faced with a much larger force of determined enemy massed against you. Of course probably every engaged unit was trying to call in air and they cannot be everywhere all the time…But if the brass sent your unit in there, they sure as hell should have some help ready to fly in to tip the scales your way. Except for ground directed but heaven sent artillery (from just one artillery battery), I am amazed that you guys were so “on your own”. Thank you for sharing what it was really like there…God Bless.

Air support is weather and time dependent. Daytime and clean clear air are the basic
requirements. Then there’s the type of air. F-4s and the fighter bombers missed more than hit.
B-52s were scary but too far away to do much good. Naval gun fire was simply scary and you needed a Navy
F.O. to call it in. Mostly, the Marines were scared shitless of air and artillery. My art and science applications to calling
artillery kept me alive more with my men then the enemy. Good accurate air and artillery support was uncommon.
Air did not talk to the ground a whole lot either, unless it was a SkyRaider or Puff or one of those great Intruders.
Thanks for the comment and your deep reading of the story.
Semper fi
Jim

Jim…such excellent writing again…didn’t see a lot of that coming…can’t see how Casey and Pilson came away without a scratch but I have a feeling there is more to that story too…and giving Rittenhouse the morphine…that’s the thing most people don’t understand about command…you have to live with decisions that you make that take lives, whether intentional or not…you were a hero whether you realize it or not…I have a 94 year old WWII vet friend that received 2 bronze stars, a silver star, and a medal of valor, but he summed it up pretty well when he said “we were all scared as hell during combat…the only difference between a hero and a coward is which direction you run…I just ran the right way a few times”…his humility always struck me but what he said he true…and your writing is bringing some of that experience into the light from the dark shadows where it has lurked for too long…I didn’t mean to ramble here and like the man said last segment…you could write this with a crayon on a brown paper bag and people would read it by candlelight if they had to…you truly have a gift…

Yes, the crayon quote. That guy was writing something from the heart and the compliment is huge.
Maybe too huge since I wonder when I finish a segment whether it is good enough now. I have to write on though because I could get involved
editing forever. Courage is learned behavior. It’s not innate or genetic. When born, babies fear only two things straight from the womb.
They fear falling and they fear snakes. That’s it. That also means that snakes were once much more of a threat to our survival than they are today.
All the other things about life we learn. We have to have a reason to demonstrate courage. It is always right to flee…unless there is something that’s more
important to stand for. Growing those more important things is how we live….and combat is nothing we’ve experienced before and totally foreign to the rest of the human
condition. Ergo, when that door slams down on the jungle mud and that guy says “welcome to the Nam,” you start learning. Whether you end up exhibiting courage or not
is determinant on living long enough and then deciding what is important enough.
Thanks for the interesting comment.
Semper fi,
Jim

Yes, J, it was, back then and then on through all that time to right here and now.
Those things we thought we’d just forget immediately upon getting home or at least after a few years.
Nope. All in there. Thanks for the comment and the reading of the story…
Semper fi,
Jim

Great job! This chapter sums up what some went through. I was Quang Tri, 68-69 (petroleum Supply) but didn’t go through what you have told us about. Admire the “tough guys” that were in the bush.
Nelson

The tough guys in the bush mostly die or get badly hurt, so hurt they can’t even
come back from the experience. So, in light of that, how many ‘tough guys’ are there left from
the conflict? I’m not one. I got in trouble all the time after I went with the CIA for not
using violence when I should have or somebody else thought I should have. My kind of tough is
taking the pain, not giving it. My kind of tough is simply knowing what I am and what I am not.
I don’t mean to demonstrate toughness here at all. I just mean to say that if endurance is how we are to
measure tough then we all had it. Then. And now?
Semper fi,
Jim

Can you keep on going? Can you keep on going after you’ve been shamed, found to be wrong and having acted inappropriately?
If you can then you might have a shot in coming to know that word called courage. We elect officials constantly today who go through
a crucible and filters of cleanliness to arrive at candidates who have never done anything so they cannot be held liable for having done anything wrong.
I want people who’ve failed. My company and I failed all the time…and we fucking kept right on going, right on attacking. Can you take the hit?
If you haven’t been hit hard a few times then the answer is easy. No. You can’t take the hit. I want people in my life who can take a hit…and so I want
people who have taken hits. I want endurance because that is what I am all about.
Semper fi, Robert, my friend.
Jim

Paul
on March 19, 2017 at 12:37 am

Why do I think Sugar Daddy might have something for Jürgens before you get a chance?….

Edit; “He went south,” I said, pointing. “I can see his foot prints,” so we got south down river.”

Yes, it should Mike, with commas before the ‘or’ and after the ‘so.’
Thanks for the editing help. Going straight to it.
Semper fi,
Jim

Monty Ellis
on March 18, 2017 at 10:13 pm

Mr. Strauss, I was born in 1960 so obviously I was to young for Vietnam. But I have to say, without going into detail, that it had a major effect on my life then and during the years after. As a result I have spent no small amount of time learning what I could about it. Not just the war itself but the effect it had on our society at large and me personally. In that quest I have over the years attempted to talk to a few vets with mixed results and none of them being real positive conversations. (“you weren’t there” was a common theme) Even all the reading or watching seemed sanitized or Hollywood scripted. Your story, while a fascinating page turner, is very telling – some of the comments even more so. Not just the war itself but also some of the societal issues as well. You have raised my understanding to a much higher level. Thank you for sharing.

One of the funny things about combat is that most of the secrets about what happens there stay there.
The ones who come back won’t or can’t reveal them. If you’d been the right age and drawn one of those short straws
then you’d have come with me, or somebody like me. Here’s a bit of reality written by someone who knew in WWII.
If you’d have come with me then you’d be one of the men fading away in that sequence….
I’m glad you are here and were not there…
Semper fi,
Jim

You are most welcome Monty. War is a funny thing because most of
the combat secrets die in combat.
Shameful and dishonorable behavior abounds out there in the bush.
Lord of the Flies for adults.
You can understand why so much of what happens out there stays out there.
It’s not about killing the enemy or
being killed by the enemy.
Everyone talks about that shit.
Why I’ve written the story. That other shit.
Semper fi,
Jim

Thanks LT. You are helping me heal. I was a Marine Sergeant in Vietnam, 69. Because of my assignment, I have lived my life feeling I never gave enough. I was a Marine Security Guard at the American Embassy in Saigon. Important job, yes, but nothing even close to what you and thousands of grunts experienced.
After 6 years of active duty, I got out for family reasons. My local Marine Reserve had nothing which interested me. Didn’t really understand (at the time) that I was suffering from survivor guilt (didn’t do my share). The only thing that made sense, was the military. Joined the Army Reserve and retired a CWO4 after 34 years of service. I may have been an Army Officer, but really I was a Marine in disguise. I know it’s crazy, but still feel I didn’t do my share.
Thank you so much for allowing me to feel a little less guilty. Semper Fi, Marine.

There were no shares. You got the luck of the draw in life, and then, if shipped to Vietnam,
there too. My Basic Class for Marine Officer training suffered the worst fatalities of all Basic Classes before or since.
That is fortune. I did not join up at that time to enjoy that statistic nor did I know about it until a few years ago.
You got lucky Bob and I would sure as hell think that for the rest of your life if I were in your shoes. No night sweats. No carnage
of the mind over the guys who are still with us but not there at all. None of the internal and external regrets of mortal injury to so many.
Not the running from fire that’s not in the movies except for the declared cowards, of course. No diseases accumulated in the awful conditions
that still plague us…those not so lucky. And the amazing thing is that you are the one who feels like you did not do your share…not us!
Read this story and don’t stop between segments wishing you were there. It’s not over yet.
Semper fi,
Jim

I started reading this kind of on a lark ..now I am reading to see if I can understand why my best friend in school did what he did …he was an FMF corpsman with the third Marines …he physically came back but he really never was back ..in April in 1975 after the fall of Saigon ..he put a 1911 in his mouth.. I was in charge of his burial detail …thank you sir for the insight… I cannot wait to buy the book ..I want my baby brother to read it !! Semper Fi Lt.

Some of us were gifted in strange ways, and others not. My gift was to be
isolated in a Japanese hospital where I had only vestigial American help.
All I could do was think and be medicated and then think some more.
The time before the time when I went home and had to take another hit between the eyes
from a culture I thought I’d known but I had not at all… or I’d become something other
than my culture found acceptable. Coming home was lonely. Locked into my own skull.
And more fear of fucking up and blowing the only hope I had to have something, anything in life.
And being pushed along by the guys who I left behind but who came to never leave me.
Rittenhouse is right here, just like always.
I understand the inability of the culture to understand.
I understand that I am required to do this mostly on my own.
I understand that many of my brothers and sisters under arms
are not given the isolation or tools to allow them to come back.
Thanks for reading and being taken with the story.
I hope your baby brother gets something out of it.
Semper fi,
Jim

Jim another great chapter!Your writing is some of the greatest on the job work explaining every moment.As I read I feel like I’am there with you and your scout team.Only a marine who’s been on patrol in the bush can write this story.Great chapter like all of them . Simpler Fi

Yes, I was there or this comment area would not exist. The guys who’ve been and lived are all here…many of them, anyway.
They know. I expect that they do and I expect they speak up when they think I have it wrong. And I’d have closed this comment section down sometime
back if this wasn’t all salt of the earth shit…
Thanks for the compliment and being on here to write it…
Semper fi,
Jim

AL 67-68
on March 18, 2017 at 7:44 pm

Dang Jim,
Now I’m double reading and scouring all the comments for specks of information. You have been blessed with a real talent and I look forward to each new chapter. Keep doing what you have been doing it works.
Thanks, AL

I have to be careful on these comments. For white awhile there I just thought I was answering
comments. Chuck had to let me know that everyone who comes to this section can read everything!
That can be a bit disconcerting if Ive gotten pretty deep into answering a specific thing.
I am on the next segment right now and I think it will be out toot sweet, or so I hope.
Thanks for making me feel special.
Semper fi,
Jim

I hardly feel like I’m anybody to comment at you. I never served in nam and honestly I’m glad I never had to. I look forward to every new page you add to this book, and share your life changing (and horrifying ) experience. Thank You so very much. after all these years I still try to make sense of the viet nam war but I’ve never once said a bad thing about the people that served our country in that horrible mess. If this would help I read a paragraph that started out with “where’s Casey”, in mid paragraph it indicated “shards of sharpened metal traveling @ 22,000 fps” . I believe that might be 2200 fps. I have some experience with sporting rifle ballistics. please forgive me if I spoke out of turn.

That’s quite okay Richard. It’s why we have this comments section. The artillery shells are filled with
a very fast burning high explosive. Much faster than standard powders that power rifle bullets.
C-4, or composition 4, burns at 22 to 24 thousand feet per second. When the shell explodes the metal surrounding
the explosive charge is shredded and driven outward at the speed of the explosive burning. So the shards of metal
called shrapnel begin heading out at extreme high speed. They slow very quickly because of their shape and travel in the
atmosphere. If you get hit with a chunk close in then the results are devastating, even if it’s a small chunk.
a piece the size of a quarter can take an arm off at close range. High velocity bullets usual travel from two to four thousand
feet per second, or one fifth as fast. Thanks for writing in and I hope I’ve helped resolve what seemed like a mistake on my part.
Semper fi,
Jim

Keep On Keeping On James Very good writing my brother my brother served 1970-71 Plekui n Kontum Central Highlands he passed April 18,1982 AO 4 Days before I was to come home from Germany on leave you keep on writing James n do your brothers proud I salute you Sir.

Lost my brother too, before I could get home and out of the hospitals enough to
be ambulatory. Back then the family did not have enough money to be flying around the country
no matter what the situation. Plus he was Army and was under orders himself.
Sorry about your brother. Wish you’d seen him too. Thanks for the compliment and for being here and saying something.
SEmper fi,
Jim

Al
on March 18, 2017 at 7:35 pm

Thank you for another tru grit chapter. You sir were an amazing young man. Take your time and keep em coming….

Thanks Al, I am all over it tonight. Maybe the hardest parts come with
the passing of some of the guys. They all have places in my life, as they sort
of fit themselves into over the years. My wife knows the names of so many because I very occasionally talk about
them. Rittenhouse is, of course, one of those and he ‘crossed over’ in the last segment.
As it was at the time I must move on as if that is quite okay. Note how the fact that Rittenhouse
tossed a grenade at me that might have ended my own existence has nothing to do with how I feel
about his passing. None of it is logical. He was one of my boys and he will always be one of my boys.
Semper fi,
Jim

I went back to day one on your arrival and reread it. It all came together, even rom Jan. 1 when I first began until now. Time creeps. Jim, you deliver some excellent advice here with us in these comments. Thanks. (Ron). S/f.

I am not sure about the advice Ron. I just try to respond to the deeply heartfelt comments in the same
way I am given them. And I do feel that the comments are specially ‘given’ to me, like a gift. A special gift.
So many guys say things on here they’ve never said before. I could not handle them or respond to them any other way than I do.
They speak from the heart and I come back at them from my own. There’s not a lot of honesty on this planet but maybe a touch more
here than in other places. Thanks for that nice comment, as usual from you.
Semper fi,
Jim

Thanks 68, all over it. With the help of my friends here I’ll be able to put this all together much
easier than the first ten days. That novel should come out next week. It will be so interesting to see if it sells at all.
Real life back here is not real life as it was there. There was a deadly honesty to all that and the honesty here
has to be mined and then refined before being shaped into whatever its supposed to be…
Semper fi,
Jim

Again James, I am not disappointed. Reading your story is like watching it as a movie in my head. You have a gift to bring this story to life. If your story was made into a movie, it would be the kind of movie that people would say was no where as good as the book. As I said before you paint a picture with words, your attention to every little detail allows the reader to be there along side you as you tell the story. People need to understand what you went through, both in country and back at home. You truly have a gift my friend. I look forward to the next edition.

I am not expecting a movie, and if that were to happen then how is it that a veteran
without proper contacts would be able to influence the final product at all.
I know that Platoon could have been so much better but it got bastardized for
Hollywood purposes. Might be fun to meet over the movie later and laugh…like
I did at Apocalypse Now and Deer Hunter. Thanks for the great compliment and the
support of commenting here and reading the story…
Semper fi,
Jim

Nope. The rockets were fired into the main unit, not the small party the Captain was a
part of. The artillery got that unit because of the shift in the river and my not knowing where they were.
Semper fi,
Jim

Where do I start, how can I ask? You helped “out” the guy that would have your hide fluttering in his wind. You helped out an officer totally unequipped for combat. You’ve, seemingly, wound up with only charlie trying to kill you for a few minutes. Did you sigh a sign of relief or did you have time? I’m starting to see what this is pulling out of you. Hope you get as much good as we do from the telling. I’m not qualified to say this, but I wish you Semper Fi. Korea, 66-68 (8th Army, Support Command)

I am working away on the next segment Walt. Trying to get ahead because the last one took
three re-writes. I got up in the night knowing I’d screwed up a sequence but having a hard time
putting it all back together without just churning out fictional shit. I think I got it and now on into
what was supposed to be an abandoned LZ. Thanks for the loyalty and support, my friend,
Semper fi,
Jim

I look at some of the stuff I have given you, and see something strange, The memories as I see them are all to often in mirror image, Like I am looking at my past in a mirror………. Yes through the looking glass, and a song from back then…. Yes Brother John… We Got To Get Out Of This Place….. If it the last thing we ever do, Which for too many it was….. My over watch is a man name Malone, William J. a friend and I couldn’t save him…… But He has saved me long after, WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF THIS PLACE! Semper fi/This We Defend Bob

Of course, it was one of the songs. Those songs that mean so much to us
and many others but not for the same deadly deep reasons. That song made the Marines laugh
and that was a good thing. Thanks for the memory…
Semper fi, as usual my friend,
Jim

Bill Youngren
on March 18, 2017 at 2:43 pm

Jim, these are the thoughts that raced trough my mind as I finished this episode. Based on Casey’s commentary about getting Rittenhouse out before you figured it out makes me believe he was in league with Jurgens to eliminate you and Rittenhouse had been selected to do their dirty work. Casey had every reason to take you out. He wanted your silver star and could not contend with the notion that you might out him one day and expose him as a fraud. I would expect that Jurgens fed his fears about that and that your demise would be seen as a good thing for the company. Pilson’s participation smells of gunny and the intricate webs he weaves. Gunny perceives that his survival is linked to yours. I think he had some play in the outcome. Thanks – look forward to the next chapter.

Thanks Bill for the complexity of your analysis. You would have made a better detective
than I was in the situation. When I was in Basic School there was some politics going on…what with the small band of Academy graduates we had,
the shitty battalion commander and the simply fact that some of us, most of us, were going over and some of us were not. The Basic Class I graduated
from suffered the worst fatalities of any Basic Class in Marine Corps history. But I was not ready for the politics and shit going on in that
rifle company in near constant contact in a place called the A Shau Valley…
Semper fi,
Jim

Powerful chapter yet with little resolution as to the problems that confronted you from within your own company.

Thankfully Rittenhouse answered one of the primary questions about who was behind the fragging incident, when he mentioned he should never have listened to Jurgens.

The Capt. apparently listened to Jurgens as well as Pilson, who were all in the same clique. The Captain’s comments about no one liking you, pretty much indicated that he knew what was planned for your destiny by those around him. His guilt showed up, when he asked if you knew they were going to be in that area? He justified your calling in the Arty, as revenge for the betrayal of him and his accomplishes. A conflict of conscience.

If Pilson was with the Captain from start to finish, he had to know what was going on, yet he went along with all of it, to the point of even breaking critical communications. His purpose was to operate the radio for the CO, yet the radio had been damaged by enemy or friendly fire or deliberately, yet he went on with the CO, without trying to establish any further communications. Was he ordered to do so or was that by choice? He had to know as a marine that they could not make it without the rest of the company. Since Rittenhouse had already went down, the mission to get him to the LZ was finished. Was he also aware of the fact that his guilt had been discovered as well? Confusion of conscience?

Apparently the Gunny had not agreed with the CO going it alone to the LZ, or the decision was made by the Captain, for the Gunny to stay behind and manage the first and second platoons. Doesn’t appear that the Gunny argued with the Captain about that decision, clever decision on his part.

It is apparent that the CO was using Nguyen and Stevens as his scout team, when they were hit by artillery. Nguyen sent Stevens back to you with the phone piece, to let you know why communications had been cut and to stop friendly fire. Yet he proceeded with the CO afterwards or he went and found him, no details on that aspect of the story. After all of that, the Capt., still held Nguyen in little regard. Why would one despise someone that tried to save them? The Capt., was definitely short of a full load.

Back to Rittenhouse, the man was definitely sorry for trying to frag you and your forgiveness for that, gave him more relief then the final morphine dose. When you are at death’s door, the conscience always outweighs the flesh!

Thank you J, for the usual in depth and no holds barred comment.
Yes, to a lot of things in what you said. I won’t answer some things just because
it might prejudice what is coming and a lot of other people are reading these comments.
Rittenhouse was something. Complex. Effective. Neat. And a child. All at the same time.
When I came home and saw M.A.S.H. on television I was shocked because Radar reminded me so much
of Rittenhouse and I loved the Radar character. To this day I have a hard time separating them.
The antics on the show were fun and I laughed a lot. There was no terror or fear driving everyone.
There was no real misery of conditions. It was clean. They were clean. They got to drink, eat
and go on leave and call home on the radio. I did not resent that. I just wished I’d had it.
Thanks for making me reread your comment like some of the guys reread the story segments. Deep.
I love it.
Semper fi,
Jim

I hate to see a grown man cry.But James ,you had me going on this one .When you had to put Rittenhouse down. That song by Edwin Starr ,(War), came blasting through my head like a freight train . One of our squads got hit pretty bad and we were bringing them up to be choppered out. One kept slipping out of litter ,was KIA ,I tied him in with dog handler belt I scrounged up from rear .The night before I heard them shooting the shit .He was their corpsman ,looked to be 15 yrs. old. SAD Semper Fi Roger

The music of the time was strangely ever present and the songs, when played, I have to be careful
about. I do not keep special disks of the music and I never play the big old tapes of Armed Forces radio
I bought years later. They come on and play on the radio or at the coffee shop and always get my attention.
But I’m okay now so I can just gentle on through. thanks for writing about your corpsman and what you yourself went
through. Formative. Hard. Soft too…and then there’s the music.
Semper fi,
Jim

This read was more complex than I would have imagined. I was glad to see others read it over again as well. As a nurse who leans more toward surgical approach, I want to find the problem & excise it. But it seems the problem has metasticized. Now, the objective is to find where & if it is treatable. You must have felt really alone not knowing who to trust & where you were going. It is so difficult trying to read every expression or innuendo, do your job & stay alive.

This was a complex segment and your put your finger on something that was as
painful as the fear Cathy. The loneliness. It was hard to be that alone and that scared at the same time.
It was hard to be afraid of my own men while being really afraid of the enemy at the same time.
I think I trusted Nguyen first because he was neither. Then Fusner because he was just too young not
to think I was some sort of returned Jesus Christ. Thanks for digging so deeply into the story and then coming
on here to write about it…and risk writing about it.
Semper fi,
Jim

Wow. This was the most powerful installment yet, IMO. I didn’t see it coming, but Jurgens’ role in the fragging attempt isn’t a surprise. That a by the book S.O.B. like Casey apparently knew, but did nothing about it, does.

We didn’t know about TBI back then. Casey took a heavy hit and will come back
in different condition, as you will see in the next segment. Thanks for using the word
power because I did not feel powerful when I wrote it and I did not feel powerful when I was
in the company over there, although now I know that I really was.
Thanks for the comment and for being so into the story.
Semper fi,
Jim

When the book comes out, hopefully late next week, then I’ll autograph if you sent it to me and then
send it back for free. I think that would be fun, sort of like answering comments on here in a way.
Thank you for wanting one and liking the story as much as you do.
Semper fi,
Jim

God Bless you Jim Strauss and stay strong as you enter that tunnel into the past. Your open honesty of your thoughts, fear, anger, remorse and the vivid details of your story have us all in the valley with you. Very few people can bear their souls to the world. You are on a mission surely God given and with purpose.

God is a tough one, what with his arcane and rather dark sense of humor, for the most part.
Maybe I ought to be a preacher but I don’t think anyone would let me say more than five words in a real church.
My beliefs are earthy tattered things that lurk and plop themselves about. I question God severely while believing there’s something there.
I try to be Christ-like but don’t believe in that dramatic story of christ much at all.
I think God acts but does not speak… so people who are looking for answers need to watch instead of listen.
I think that God created us to be good because he doesn’t necessary see himself that way and wanted to attempt perfection.
I think God is entertained by the whole show and probably laughs a whole lot more than anyone would ever think.
I also think He lets us do just about what we want to do and says “Really!” all the time.
Thanks for writing and reading so deeply and think I’m okay. I always wonder if I’d had just a few more
years on me whether I’d have done better with the company.
Semper fi,
Jim

The invincibility of being young I think served you best. The “what ifs” plague us all when we look into the past.
“Really?” one of my favorite words when speaking to God.
You are right in His sending messages in signs all around us.
I believe also that God has a big sense of humor, at least I hope so, or I’m in big trouble. Lol!
Freedom of will,God gives us that and like a loving parent lets us make our mistakes, holds us tightly and loves us through the consequences.
Thank you for responding to my comments.
Oh and by the way pretty sure Jurgens isn’t coming to breakfast, he may have crawled into a leech hole.
Nancy

Henderson, Cathy type. Don’t under rate Jurgens or any of those bloodied and tough-minded men.
They moved in circles hard to understand and they danced to music I could not hear, but I learned to follow.
Thanks for your discussion about God. Tough one that, because there will never be proof. Nor disproof.
And our beliefs will remain differential right down to our smallest toe…
thanks for caring and reading this story…and commenting here, of course.
Semoer fi,
Jim

Joe
on March 19, 2017 at 3:07 pm

Jim, I started reading this Chapter this AM then realized I was going to be late for the study part of Curch before the message our pastor had for us. Came home and started all over, then with a short visit from a neighbor I started again. Now I am in the comments to this point where I realize why Ryan Rush chose “God’s Sovernity” as his sermon from Romans 8:26-28. Trying to put a one word description to how I feel about your work is like trying to understand the Mysteries of God. You seem to be still asking why? And long ago I gave up on that question because it was much more easy path than fighting with the Creator. Kinda like I gave up trying to make sense of creation and pain and death and enjoyed the faith he gave me by getting thru my mind straight to my heart. And someday I will share with you a story of a Marine who died with my hands on his body not knowing why he was dying. It gets more time in the front of my brain now for a damn good reason. You are a Man’s man as my Dad used to say. Please continue your work and maybe find a little peace at the end.

Thank you Joe, for all sorts of things written into your comment.
Dealing with this after all these years is a lot easier than it was
earlier on. Nobody at all understood then. In fact, when George C. Scott
playing Patton, hit the trooper who was ‘shell shocked’ everyone in the theater
I saw the movie in cheered. Patton was quiet correctly put in his place for that awful
behavior but the common mindset of mostly males is that combat is something else other than what
it really is, and that their own conduct would be courageous and self-sacrificing. Ergo, they have
no clue. Thank you for understanding and thank you for the religious reference. My tattered belief system does not
have the gifted certainty of your own, but then the gifts we get are all different.
Semper fi,
Jim

Nancy Henderson
on March 19, 2017 at 8:20 pm

Believe me, when I say I would never judge or put down one of these warriors. I don’t know what “cathy type” means. Lol.
God Bless You.

Cathy was my lead nurse in Japan. That was high praise. Thanks so much for coming on here. Not many women do.
I expected none. I expected no civilians at all and very few veterans who had not seen action. I have been surprised.
Thank you for being one of those warm welcome surprises…
Semper fi,
Jim

Nancy Henderson
on March 19, 2017 at 11:41 pm

Jim, people want to know the real story of Vietnam and few can bear the pain of telling it. You are a very brave man and you are giving strength to other vets who served there, I see it in all of the comments.
I want my Grandchildren to know the truth. Two were ages 5 and 3 when my husband died and three of them had not been born. I have 120 letters from him the year he was in Vietnam. He was only 21 then and they can see through reading the letters how stressed, upset he was. I wrote him everyday and lived in total fear of loosing him. We were true soulmates and even 20 years a widow I remain in love and faithful to him. I don’t know know what that makes me but I don’t feel like a civilian, just a devoted wife of a Vietnam Veteran.
Thank you
Nancy

Nancy, now what Vietnam Veteran can possibly read your comment with nearly breaking right down the center?
The real story.
What was the real story? There were so many of them. You had to land in my mud, my boots,
my company and my battalion in that area of the country to experience my war…
which I lay out here in as truthful a detail as I can, given the years.
I wrote a lot of it back then but did not have the developed talent to apply the right words
to properly illustrate the depth of it. Now, here it is.
I am so glad that you seem to be helped by it.
Yes, you certainly know more and now you probably have a good idea why your husband did not
want you to shoulder the burden.
My wife is reading these events for the first time for that very reason too….
Thanks for you open and feeling comment here and for following the story, of course…
Semper fi,
Jim

J
on March 21, 2017 at 9:33 am

Wow, you continually invite the comments you are getting, when discussing your strange philosophies, particularly about God and the purpose of life itself.

One remembers going down that road long ago, with a friend who had just started learning about a God of the universe. In our discussion, we envisioned spiritual gods with the power to make us feel like we were actually alive, when in fact, we were but the thought processes of the gods who were playing this chess game of mortal life. It got real deep, but with no factual evidence to prove such a theory.

When we got back to the actual facts about the history of mankind and both had finished reading the bible, there was no longer a question about the real God or what He was like. We found that the character and nature of God, was clearly defined in a book that was written by many of His servants, covering over a period of 4000 years. No other book has ever been written with such details about life here on earth or why there is life.

As for Christ, no other man has ever had such an effect on life here on earth. He literally changed the history of the world, with His brief visit to this planet. Even the secular fanatics have to admit that fact!

Thank you J, for that deep comment and the commitment you demonstrate for the Word and for your beliefs.
Everyone is not gifted that sort of belief and I have not been so lucky.
The ‘actual facts’ about our history are filled with so much conjecture and there’s nothing
in the Bible that reveals why God would have written it through the hands of other men.
Much enjoy your comments here and yes, my philosophy is a bit strange…but what the hell…
Semper fi,
Jim

Nancy Henderson
on March 22, 2017 at 10:11 am

You are Blessed to have your wife by your side as you take this journey into the past to write this book. I think she is absolutely amazing and loves you very much.

Family is about the only inoculation against PTSD. The family makes it worthwhile to
work it through, not get off the escalator or do something that will end up being the same thing.
Thanks for the comment and the support here Nancy.
Semper fi,
Jim

Larry Goldsmith
on March 18, 2017 at 11:57 am

so tired of everything…can’t go on..don’t want to go on…collapse backwards into the undergrowth and look up at the single tree branch above you….and asking God to end it all with that single droplet of rain..that silver, wet bullet from Heaven that can end all this misery….right between the eyes….please… S/F Brother…

Larry. What is going on. Are you down for the count or something? That was pretty dark stuff you wrote.
You know where I am and my number is 2625815300. Come back brother!
Semper fi, and standing by,
Jim

Very nice of you to reach back to him. I did too and he’s better now.
A dark cloud passes over, you know the kind…thanks for caring enough about him…
and us…to be thinking and doing such things…
Semper fi,
Jim

Vern
on March 18, 2017 at 11:24 am

Reading every part three times. So much is in there. Still thinking about the cut radio cord.
Thanks for this work James, and all that led up to it.

The cut radio cord. Yes, it the handset lays there on my pack. It’s not going anywhere and that handset is a long
way from being the end of that part of the story. “Pilson, in the library with the handset.” Thanks for being so rigorous in your
review and analysis and caring so very much.
Semper fi,
Jim

Once again so many questions. How did Stevens know something was up? Why would nguyen not want there to be any contact with Pilsen/ Casey? How did those three avoid the 105’s? Why would Nguyen go with them on a fool hardy mission?
Eagerly await the next chapter.

Thanks for the questions, which tell me that you are reading pretty deeply and accurately.
I can’t answer yet. You kinda knew that because you have the intellect to ask the questions in the first place.
Thanks for the edit too, and I will make those changes right now.
Semper fi,
Jim

I am trying to make a dent in that analysis Bill. I am trying, in telling the story as closely as I can make it to the real thing, to allow others who did not go through the ‘grinder’ to develop some sort of idea without having to come out the other end as ground chuck. The physical and mental immersion we went through is tough to accurately convey. Thanks for reading and commenting here.
Semper fi,
Jim

Thanks Lt for feeding us your story a little bit at a time. I couldn’t hold my breath through much more than you give us.
I salute you proudly, Sgt. Stan Batemon
11th Motor Transport Bn.
1st Marine Division
Dai Lai Pass.

Well Sergeant, that kind of compliment goes a long way. I rewrote that segment three times
because every time I stopped ‘holding my breath’ I’d curse and remember something that changed the very
nature of the experience. Nice comment well taken!
Semper fi,
Jim

I don’t know what God was doing and He befuddles me to this day.
Will this story about what happened and God’s role in all that ever come out into public
display. I suppose, although I am doing my part, that that is up to Him too…
Thanks for the comment and the understanding…
Semper fi,
Jim

Jim…there is a slight, lingering hope that this is all part of a fictional novel, BASED on actual people places and time…though I’ve heard from fellow vets that WHEN one served and WHICH unit one served in, was crucial to the “experience. I was with D Co 2/8 1st Air Cavalry (and yes we were called “Air Cav” back then) class of 68…I was hit 4 Dec 68 and subsequently medevaced to Japan and then the “States”. After following you posts, I can only say a prayer of thanks for WHEN I served, and the MEN I served with! I’d be lying if I said there was no racial friction, but it was put on hold while in combat…only to resurface in the hospitals and stateside. In the field we couldn’t afford the liability of a divided unit. I walked point, and my two flank men (when vegetation, terrain and mission allowed) were both black as was the man who had my 6…our lives depended on each of us doing our respective jobs…that’s not to say we would have taken long hot showers together, had they been available…but we were out of necessity, BROTHERS, and we remain so to this day. I can relate to EVERYTHING else in your narrative: the fatigue…no wait make that total exhaustion of endless humping in the heat and humidity…the sleep depravation…the filth that engulfs you body and soils your soul…the mental stress that gets to the point where you actually welcome the contact because it is less disturbing than the anticipation of the contact…kind of a very sick variation of the battered wife syndrome…you know you are going to get hit, just not when, do you welcome the blow because it ends the tension…man that is some sick shit!!!!!! Again, I say a prayer of thanks that I didn’t serve in a unit like yours…I have a lot of what the psychobabblists call “unresolved issues”, but thank God, they are not as significant as what you have to deal with. For whatever it is worth, you have brothers out here who care! T

The company could not have been so successful in combat until it was cohesively held together in units inside the main unit.
The platoons were tight in side the platoons, even though first and fourth killed one another willy nilly over racial and other issues.
Any work written this much later is a work of fiction based upon actual events. To say anything else is to elevate my memory to
video recording status. I have to do what I can to patch it together as good as I can. The last segment took so long because I had
to rewrite it twice. What your unit was like is only known to a very few. The disturbing part of not being in contact is something interesting
and very true. When they should hit you and don’t. When you know you’re weak and they don’t take advantage of it. I wish our racial friction
had not carried right into the field…never during open combat with the enemy that I knew of unless it was that crap at night where they
threwn grenades at one another. The tracer ammo stopped a lot and we could not have Claymores as I’ve written. The stuff is all there
and it was tough stuff to come home after so changed because of it. I really appreciate the care and concern and the kind of open exposing
comment you just made. And you are right in your writing…
Semper fi,
Jim

Thanks Wes, the adventure quickens as the A Shau begins to submerge itself into
the psychology of everyone who enters that valley. Like a scary Tarzan movie. Well, at least they
were scary back then…thanks for the comment and the support…
Semper fi,
Jim

Frank Walker
on March 18, 2017 at 10:33 am

I would do anythibg I had to just to get back to the world. Momma, apple pie, Chevrolet and apple pie be damned. I made up my mind on that on the MATS aircraft headong for Cuba the day Kruschef blinked and we came home.

There would be a few mixed reviews about that conclusion Tony, on the Internet and off.
But I thank you. I, like you, am trying my heart out to be just that. It’s hard to divide
away the selfishness, like chunks of meat carved from one of those Gyros meat holders, and get to
the core…and then to fashion that core into what might just turn out to be honor.
Thanks for the compliment and I did not mean to belittle it, so much as wonder about how true it really is…
Semper fi,
Jim

3 Marines KIA !! Rittenhouse cut to pieces & Casey & Pilson not a scratch !! Wonder how Pilson’s handset was cut & still in the case ?? What kind of knife did Nguyen carry & how long was his real name ?? I must deedi mau, sin loi & you # 1 GI !!

Intelligent questions there, to say the least. What do you do for a day job? Homicide detective?
I will reveal what you want to know in the next segment. Thanks for going into the story so deeply and then
thinking like you do…deeply, indeed.
Semper fi,
Jim

The one way you can always get out of a maze. You place on hand on one side of the maze and then begin moving through the maze. The direction does not matter. As long as your hand remains in contact with the wall or surface, and you keep moving, you will eventually get out of the maze. That’s what I felt like for a good part of my service in the corps. The combat part was the worst overgrown part of the maze and it was tough to remain in contact with the reality of the wall or surface. I’m not sure I figured out ten percent of what was really going on at any time although it’s a whole lot easier in retrospect to make believe I did. Thanks for the comment and the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim

engrossing stuff. i have one question of a word, the last in the following quote:
“I crouched against the trunk of some unknown jungle tree spreading out above me. The gentle breeze, impossibly making itself so deed”

i know when i write things (just for me) that i will read and have misspells and all kinds of errors that i just do not make. LOL. just helping out. love reading your story.

Thanks most sincerely for the editing help. My friend Chuck and I get right to it when someone
like you edits for us. Thanks a million. It helps more than you know and you never ever have to apologize.
We get it and are trying to turn out professional material from totally amateur vets (us). This publication of the first
book I dedicated to all the guys who did not make it but I will dedicate the next one to all the guys on here that are part
of the story after the story happened…and their stories that remain silently replaying night after night with nobody to know them.
Semper fi,
Jim

Sorry to be the critic, but the third para. has some typos. The breeze so (deed) dead ? next typo. singly (singley?) Why Casy went to the river looking for the old LZ is strange too. But that’s him to explain if he’s capable anymore.

I am all over them Jerry. Appreciate the help with editing. And the times were indeed strange, with
people making all sorts of illogical moves that only had logic when the whole picture could be seen…and that was seldom!
Logic does not pervade the field combat arena much…or at least it didn’t where and when I was there in the thick of it.
Semper fi,
Jim

Thanks Steve. That was a complex tough one. Sometimes it’s also hard to write about the times
I simply caved in to the forces around me and didn’t act like a leader at all. I was like the ‘accidental’ leader type.
Phony company commander one day and real dirt bag the next….thanks for your enthusiasm and support…
Semper fi,
Jim

No, James, You are what your are and what fate has made you, Murphy and Fate have placed you where you are…. Too lead, yes, a horrible commander, but and Outstanding Leader ….. Murphy and Fate take the measure of a man’s soul, You are making the right decisions at the right time for your survival and the survival of the tribe….. They have to be made………

I started out as a crew chief on my first tour ….. There are many times we flew formations on missions, My ships normal place in formation was starboard #9 slot with one more ship outboard, We were coming back, last life out on a 12 hour day, 5,000 agl to get out of any chance of ground fire, tired to death, and death was stalking…. The Pilots in the #10…. Not a lucky number…. Had their heads inside their cockpit and not paying attention to their position in formation, They were steadily gaining and drifting into my ship, yes 9 men on their bird, 9 men on my Bird, and I am a 18 year old crew chief watching a midair in progress ….. I made my decision, I unlimbered the M-60, and sent a burst across the nose of that ship ….. scared to death that I would have to bring that stream of death into the cockpit of that ship, 4 men I knew and 5 I didn’t …………. Luckily the pilot made the right maneuver, He broke hard to starboard …. I still have nightmares over that …….. 9 or 18 …. The reaper lost that day thank God …….. But that was the first time I made a command decision …… But not the last …. Yep, a 18 year old Spec 5 and I decided the fait of 18 other lives … This one worked out fine ….. Yes Lousy Commander ….. Great Leadership …. Make the decision take the action when it needs to be …..

So much of where we were was not our choice, and all we could do is was make a choice and all the options had a spade ace for the High Card.

Wow. I presume they reacted to the tracers over the bow! What a tough call, and what great shooting.
I knew some Marines who could make the m-60 do amazing things. The Ma Deuce too. As usual, your comments Robert
are straight from the shoulder and heart. Thank you so much for revealing bits and pieces of your own life here.
I read such things, as you write, with extreme interest. I reread, like some readers who comment talk about rereading the
story segments. I try to take in the reality and to be there with you…and it’s important that I do so. I don’t know why.
Thank you for that.
Semper fi,
Jim

Jack Samson
on March 18, 2017 at 8:09 am

More questions than answers Jim. Bless you for Rittenhouse! I can’t wait to read the next segment. Semper Fi!

In the final analysis over there, we were pretty much all kids out in the field.
I’ll bet the average age of the company was less than twenty years old. What do you do
when kids make mistakes out of terrorizing fear and those mistakes are going to kill you or others?
Sophie’s Choice. Great movie about that kind of awful decision-making situation.
Thanks for the comment and I never spend more than a few days when Rittenhouse doesn’t somehow
reappear. He’s never mad at me. I’ll be committed if I ever mention that at the VA!
Semper fi,
Jim

Over St. Patty’s drinks after our regular Friday va meeting we discussed the fact that there are things some of us won’t discuss with anyone,even other vets. Let alone the va. To have to administer the morphine twice in 13days is a lot for anyone to process. You’ve got more in your “lock box” than most already! It’s truly a testament to who you are as a man that you made it out the otherside and are able to inspire your readers!

Thank you Jack. I hope to illustrate to those who read the story, and remained remote from combat, the kind of things that
produced the night terrors in returning veterans that could not seem to be reached by people who not only never experienced anything like
that but who will not believe others must go through it and then come home and make believe they did not. Take that Vietnam shit off your resume.
Grow your hair. Burn the uniforms. Lie about the scars. Don’t drink. Don’t take drugs. Don’t tell anybody. Get rid of the guns. Hide out on the 4th of July. Stay away from crowds. The cost of being a real combat veteran is huge and the manifestations so very many. And almost all of them are unknown or uncared about by the regular public. Oh, and don’t react violently ever again in your life, even when the situation calls for it, because all of that shit about you being a stone cold killer is not classified and will trotted out in court. And that court, being stocked with non vets and non combatants will throw your ass away in fear…all the while claiming it is saving society from you. I don’t think I inspire my readers. I think I remind them of just how tough they really had to be to come home and survive after they thought they’d been tough enough to get through Vietnam. And most of the ‘other readers’ won’t believe it anyway…
Semper fi,
Jim

Roger Kemp
on March 18, 2017 at 7:57 am

Well damned, Lt. I think I want the hard copy so it can be read cover to cover! Left hanging like a hair in a biscuit!
Casey is not battle fatigued. He is incompetent. Never take the easy path. Stay in or as near to the inhospitable terrain if at all possible. Sand box was a different issue. But then again IR only means you can run but you can’t hide.
You guys down in the weeds suffered through some shit.
Brass ones, Brother, brass ones!
Bring on the next one. I’m as tumble weed (disoriented) as I was at the finish of the second 9 g run in the spin dryer ( centrifuge) when they applied the brake!
It appears a reconing is coming. Good commanders don’t have to be liked just respected and obeyed. Sounds like you are gaining their respect. You certainly have their attention. You definitely have a big stick!
Doc

The action down in that valley just would not stop. There were no boring breaks like I’ve read some other
guys got and the endurance required to gut on through required our young ages. I went over at 159 pounds
and was weighed at the hospital later at 123. So, here comes some more. The ultimate Combat Weight Loss Program.
Semper fi, my friend, and thank you.
Jim

Roger Kemp., I spent five years and eight months in the Sand box as a private contractor. Mostly operating a crane for recovery. I was there because I wanted to be with you kids. I wanted you to know from an old vet that you could make it and it was all worth it.
In Recovery, you sometimes get a little close to the shit. We “Nam vets.” didn’t have any worse than you.
When you kids went outside the wire with out me. How many times did I set and wait by the gate like a puppy waiting for his school kid to come home? Counting every face and holding my breath. It was an honor to be there with you. Just sayin.

Well, Edward, you have to say no more, but you are most welcome here if you want to.
What magically sweet and poetic words, strung together with heart, warmth and love.
It is an honor to be a vet with you and it is a pleasure to know that there were and remain
such as you…making it all worth it.
Semper fi, brother and friend.
Jim

Pete Billings
on March 18, 2017 at 3:03 am

WOW what a turn of events. Sounds like Casey done hopped off his cookie. Sounds as though Jurgens pumped Casey full of crap along with Rittenhouse. I have a feeling Rittenhouse and Casey made sure they hung you out to dry on after action reports all they could and was Casey’s reason to get him out to the rear. The Gunny is reading you like a book. Sure have me thinking in 6 different directions it can go.

I crouched against the trunk of some unknown jungle tree spreading out above me. The gentle breeze, impossibly making itself so (deed) down near the jungle floor

The complexity under fire and then trying to think when the relief from not being under fire sets in.
What in hell is going on and why is it all so hard to understand. One would think that every Marine in the
company would only be concentrating on the enemy but that was so far from the truth that it’s not really believable.
In some ways it reminds me of America today. We have these extremely dangerous external threats but we are constantly tearing
ourselves apart on the inside.
Thanks for the comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim

Your last paragraph about Americans tearing themselves apart today, was my case back in the 1960’s. Having been born before WW II, my first memories about my beloved country, were ones of unity.

As I remember, my mother and her sisters all worked in local defense plants. Her oldest brother had joined the Navy and was the pride of his father for doing so. Our grandmothers took turns taking care of all of the children while the mothers supported our nation the best way they knew how. We had prayer every day for all of the boys who went overseas. My God it was beautiful in those days and how proud I was to be a part of America and the unity of our people.

I held onto that kind of pride until the 60’s, when I watched my beloved country being torn apart by young, ignorant and thankless hippies and it destroyed my soul at the time. It took me years to understand the mindset of the younger generation, that chose to divide our country rather then support it. I had hoped never to live long enough again, to see such things happen in this country, but unfortunately that was not the case, when returning from Vietnam nor from today.

Sadly, most of those who are trying to destroy our form of government, have never traveled around the globe and witnessed the hell that exist in other nations. Hopefully they will never have to witness it here in American, but I would not bet on it!

J, we disagree on one thing….and that’s strife, conflict and disagreement. Those are elements
when coupled with survival as a whole disagreeing tribe, make America what it is. Half the people hate Trump.
Half would have hated Clinton.
Half hated Bush, half would have hated Gore or Kerry.
It is our way and it has proven pretty solid while not seeming so at all.
thanks for being here to say what you think…
Semper fi,
Jim

J
on March 19, 2017 at 8:43 pm

James of course I cannot agree with your thought process that justifies hate within a nation. With your line of thinking on this issue, there must always be them versus us, in order to have a healthy nation. One has never seen hate produce anything but division and destruction! In fact your story here, is a great illustration of what I am trying to say as such hatred ran rampant within our own company.

One has seen tribal unity, built out of loyalty toward all tribal members and hate was not a part of their cohesiveness. So such thinking and actions, cannot be written off as tribal disagreements and division.

During WWII, there were a lot of American citizens that disagreed with one another, yet when freedom was in danger from the Axis nations, they all pulled together to fight for all of mankind. We set our separate ideologies and religious beliefs aside and we unified as one, against the enemy of all free people.

That was not the case during the Vietnam war and there was only one element that made it different, a rebellious generation that did not give a damn about anyone else but themselves. Does that sound familiar?

J, this isn’t a forum for political discussion, as you know by reading.
The Vietnam War is what the comments are all about and, of course, the story is set inside that war.
The value of dissent can be argued until we are both gone, and no doubt will be. What dissent is takes on more philosophical consideration.
What is dissent? Is it asking uncomfortable questions? Is it protesting? Is it smoking dope? Long hair? Robes? What?
I cannot settle that here. I like dissent. It means people are thinking. It means that people are not easily led. Think about my trying to lead
the company. Did they just go along because I was an officer and they were not? I don’t think so. Yet they there fierce fighters warriors and good men.
I wasn’t treated badly by war protestors when I returned home. I was treated badly by the very people who should have been very happy that I went to fight, but were not.
I’m a lousy follower. I was a better one before. Now, I don’t want to go along. Maybe I know too much, or not enough. I just don’t think most other people, including
those in leadership positions, are too gifted.
Thanks for saying what you think.
Semper fi,
Jim